Cowboy's Redemption

by B. J Daniels

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said, because there wasn’t anything else he could say.

  “And I hope you’re unhappy as hell.” She disconnected.

  He looked over at Lola and laughed.

  “Julia,” she said.

  “Yep, she called to say she liked the article.”

  Lola smiled. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “She’s leaving town.”

  “Really?” She didn’t seem unhappy to hear that.

  “She wished us well.”

  “Now I know you’re lying,” she said as he pulled her close.

  * * *

  THE WEDDING TOOK PLACE in a field of flowers surrounded by the four mountain ranges. Colt had purchased the property just days before. He’d had to scramble to get everything moved in for the ceremony.

  What had started as a small wedding had grown, as old and new friends wanted to be a part of it.

  “Lola, I know this isn’t what we planned,” Colt had apologized. They’d agreed to a small wedding, and somehow it had gone awry.

  She had laughed. “I love that all these people care about you and want to be there. They’re becoming my friends, as well.” Lillie and Mariah had given her a baby shower, the three becoming instant friends.

  He kissed her. “I just want it to be the best day of your life.”

  “That day was when I met you.”

  Colt couldn’t believe how many people had helped to make the day special. Calls came in from around the world from men he’d served with. A dozen of them flew in for the ceremony. The guest list had continued to grow right up until the wedding.

  “Let us cater it for you,” Lillie and Mariah had suggested. “Darby insists. And the Stagecoach Saloon is all yours for the reception, if it rains.”

  Lola had hugged her new friends, eyes glistening and Colt thought he couldn’t be more blessed. Lola had accepted their kind offer and added, “Only if the two of you will agree to be my matrons of honor.”

  So much had been going on that the weeks leading up to the wedding had flown by. Colt wished his father was alive to see this—his only son changing diapers, getting up for middle-of-the-night feedings, bathing the baby in the kitchen sink, and all the while loving every minute of it.

  Tommy always chuckled when he came by and caught Colt being a father. “If the guys could see you now,” he’d joked. But Colt had seen his friend’s wistful looks. He hoped Tommy found someone he could love as much as Colt loved Lola.

  She’d continued to amaze him, taking everything in her stride as the ranch auction was held and the sale of the ranch continued. She’d had her things shipped from where they’d been in storage and helped him start packing up what he planned to keep at the house.

  He’d felt overwhelmed sometimes, but Lola was always cool and calm. He often thought of that woman he’d met in Billings—and the one he’d found on his doorstep in the middle of the night. Often he didn’t feel he was good enough for her. But then she would find him, put her arms around him and rest her head on his shoulder, and he would breathe in the scent of her and know that this was meant to be.

  Like standing here now in a field of flowers next to Lola with all their friends and the preacher ready to marry them. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

  * * *

  LOLA COULDN’T BELIEVE all the people who had come into her life because of Colt. She looked over at him. He was so handsome in his Western suit and boots. He was looking at her, his blue eyes shining. He smiled as the preacher said, “Do you take this woman—”

  “I sure do,” he said, and everyone laughed.

  Lola hardly remembered the rest of the ceremony. She felt so blissfully happy that she wasn’t even sure her feet had touched the ground all day.

  But she remembered the kiss. Colt had pulled her to him, taking his time as he looked into her eyes. “I love you, Lola,” he’d whispered.

  She’d nodded through her tears and then he’d kissed her. The crowd had broken into applause. Cowboy hats and Army caps had been thrown into the air. Somewhere beyond the crowd, a band began to play.

  Lillie hugged her before handing her Grace. Lola looked up from the infant she held in her arms, her eyes full of tears. Colt put his arm around both of them as they took their first steps as Mr. and Mrs. Colt McCloud.

  * * * * *

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  Rancher’s Dream

  by B.J. Daniels

  You will die in this house.

  The thought seemed to fly out of the darkness as the house came into view. The premonition turned her skin clammy. Drey gripped a handful of her wedding dress, her fingers aching but unable to release the expensive fabric as she stared at her new home. A wedding gift, Ethan had said. A surprise, dropped on her at the reception.

  The premonition still had a death grip on her. She could see herself lying facedown in a pool of water, her auburn hair fanned out around her head, her body so pale it appeared to have been drained of all blood.

  “Are you all right?” her husband asked now as he reached over to take her hand. “Dierdre?” Unlike everyone else she knew, Ethan refused to call her by her nickname.

  “I’m still a little woozy from the reception,” she said, desperately needing fresh air right now as she put down her window to let in the cool Montana summer night.

  “I warned you about drinking too much champagne.”

  He’d warned her about a lot of things. But it wasn’t the champagne, which she’d hardly touched during the reception. Her stomach had begun roiling the moment Ethan told her where they would be living. She’d assumed they would live in his New York penthouse since that was where he spent most of his time. She’d actually been looking forward to it for several reasons. She’d never lived in a large city. Also it would be miles from Gilt Edge—and Hawk Cahill.

  She’d never dreamed that Ethan meant for them to live here, at the place he’d named Mountain Crest. All during construction, she’d thought that the place was to be used as a business retreat only. Ethan had been so proud of the structure, she’d never let on that she knew the locals made fun of the house, its name on the iron gate blocking entry—and its builder.<
br />
  When Ethan had pulled her aside at the reception and told her where they would be living, Dierdre hadn’t been able to hide her shock. She’d never dreamed... But then she’d never dreamed she would be married to Ethan Baxter.

  “Is there a problem?” he’d asked when he’d told her the news.

  She’d tried to cover her discomfort. “I just assumed we would be living in New York, closer to your business.”

  “I’ve given up the penthouse. When I have to go to the city on business, I’ll be staying in a hotel.” He’d sounded a bit indignant as if she should have been more excited. “Mountain Crest will have to do.”

  “I didn’t mean...” She had seen that there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t make it worse.

  Now as she found her breath, the premonition receding, she had another paralyzing thought. You’ve made a mistake.

  Don’t miss

  RANCHER’S DREAM,

  available August 2018 wherever

  HQN Books and ebooks are sold.

  www.Harlequin.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Barbara Heinlein

  Keep reading for an excerpt from ONE INTREPID SEAL by Elle James.

  One Intrepid SEAL

  by Elle James

  Chapter One

  Reese Brantley held on to the frame of the window as the Land Rover bounced wildly over the rugged terrain. “Slow down!” she shouted to the driver.

  Mubanga, the Zambian guide, seemed not to hear her. More likely, he completely ignored her as he leaned to the left to look beyond the obstruction of a pair of legs dangling over the windshield from a perch on the roof of the cab. He followed the racing leopard across the ground, heading north into the rocky hills, determinedly keeping up with the beautiful creature.

  Ferrence Klein, Reese’s client, who’d paid over one hundred thousand dollars for this hunting expedition, clung to his rifle from his position strapped to the top of the vehicle.

  “He’s not even supposed to be shooting leopards, is he? I thought there was a ban on shooting big cats? What the hell are you thinking?” Had Reese known Klein was coming to Africa to bag a leopard, she’d have told him no way. Her understanding was that he was there on a diplomatic mission for his father, the Secretary of Defense.

  She wasn’t playing bodyguard to an endangered-animal killer. If they weren’t traveling so fast and furious, she’d have gotten out of the vehicle and taken her chances with the wildlife, rather than witness the murder of a magnificent creature.

  The leopard jagged to the right and shot east into the rocky hills.

  Rather than turn and follow, Mubanga kept driving north.

  “Hey!” Klein yelled from the front of the vehicle. “The cat turned right!”

  Mubanga completely ignored Klein and increased his speed.

  The vehicle jolted so badly, Reese fought to keep from being thrown from her seat. The seat belt had long since frayed and broken. If she wanted to keep her teeth in her head, she had to brace herself on anything and everything to keep from launching through the window.

  Klein flopped around like a rag doll on the front of the vehicle, screaming for the driver to stop.

  “Stop this vehicle!” Reese yelled over the roar of the engine. She reached for the handgun strapped to her thigh. Before she could pull it from its holster, Mubanga backhanded her in the face so hard, she saw stars.

  Reese swayed, her fingers losing their grip on the door’s armrest. A big jolt slammed her forward, and she banged her forehead against the dash. Pain sliced through her head, blinding her. Gray fog crept in around the edges of her vision. She fought to remain upright, retain consciousness and protect her client, but she felt herself slipping onto the floorboard of the Rover. One more bump, and she passed out.

  * * *

  A FEW MINUTES might have passed—or it could have been an hour, or even a day. Reese didn’t know. All she knew was that the vehicle was still and Mubanga no longer sat behind the steering wheel. As her vision and clouded brain cleared, she pulled herself up to the seat, her hand going to the holster on her thigh, pain throbbing through her temple.

  Her 9-millimeter Glock was gone.

  The door jerked open at her side. Someone grabbed her by her hair and yanked her out of her seat and onto the dirt.

  She struggled to get her feet beneath her, but the man behind her swept out a leg, knocking her feet out from under her. Reese crumpled to the ground, her scalp screaming with the pain of being held steady by a handful of her hair.

  “What the hell’s going on?” she demanded. “Where’s Mubanga?”

  The men spoke in a language she didn’t understand. The goon holding her by the hair kicked her in the side and shoved her away from him.

  The relief on her scalp nearly brought tears to her eyes. At last, Reese was able to study her surroundings. Day had turned into dusk. Twenty dark-skinned men stood around her and Klein, each wielding a wicked-looking AK-47 rifle or a submachine gun. None looked like they were part of the Zambia Wildlife Authority. Their clothing was a mix of camouflage and rags. Mubanga was nowhere to be seen.

  Ferrence lay unconscious on the ground, several feet away from her.

  Some bodyguard she was. Her first international assignment, and her client was most likely dead. Her heart squeezed hard in her chest. Even though Ferrence had been a pain to work with, his father was nice and would be sad to lose his son. The man had paid a lot of money for her services to protect Ferrence, and she’d failed him. Reese hadn’t wished ill on Ferrence. He was a job to her, but even more so, he was a human being. No one deserved to die on vacation in Zambia.

  Since giving up mixed martial arts fighting, she’d put all her effort into her personal-protection-service start-up. She’d tapped on a few connections she’d gained while in the limelight of her fighting career and landed the job with the Kleins.

  Ferrence hadn’t wanted a bodyguard, thus, she’d come along at his father’s insistence that the younger Klein needed an assistant to make his vacation in Zambia smooth and to his liking. Reese was also to pose as his assistant on his upcoming diplomatic visit to the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

  Reese had stressed to both Ferrence and his father that she wasn’t for hire for sexual favors. Not that Ferrence had listened to a word she’d said. She’d fought off more than one advance before the private jet had left the ground in New York, nearly crippling her client with a knee to the groin.

  Since then, Ferrence had limited his advances to bumping into her whenever he could manage.

  Now the spoiled son of a billionaire lay on the ground, still as death.

  Reese inched toward him. In her peripheral vision, she kept an eye on the guns waving all around her. When she was only a foot away from Klein, the barrel of a rifle stopped her. She glanced up at her captor, a man with skin as black as the darkest night.

  “I just want to see if he’s still alive,” she said.

  “He alive,” the man said in stilted English. “For now.”

  The sound of an engine drew her attention from her captor. That’s when she noticed they were on the bank of a river. The motor noise came from a boat barreling toward them as though it would run aground before the driver slowed. Just as it neared the banks where the group of men stood, the driver pulled back on the throttle, and the craft slid to a gentle stop.

  Two men reached for Klein, one grabbing his wrists, the other his ankles. They lifted him and slung him over the side of the boat, dropping him to the bottom.

  The man beside Reese slipped the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and bent toward her.

  Reese could easily take him, now that she was conscious and steadier on her feet. She could make a break for it, and might even make it to the tree line. She reasoned she could make a run for help. But that would mean abandoning the unconscious Klein. She was supposed to be protec
ting him, and she’d botched the job completely. Abandoning him now was not an option.

  When the man reached for her arm, she jerked it away and rose to her feet. “I can walk.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he stared hard at her for a split second. Then he bent in half, hit her like a linebacker in her midsection and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “Bastard!” she yelled. But she didn’t fight hard. Her goal was to land in the boat next to Ferrence. When the time was right, and Ferrence was conscious, she’d find a way to escape. In the meantime, she let the man dump her into the boat, her body cushioned by Ferrence’s limp form.

  As the other men clambered aboard, Reese was able to check her charge for a pulse, which beat strongly. Reese breathed a sigh of relief. At least the man wasn’t dead, and they were both tagged with GPS locator chips. She might yet repair the situation, if her captors didn’t kill her first.

  Three days later

  DALTON SAMUEL LANDON, Diesel for short, leaned out of the open door of the MH-47 helicopter. Dusk wrapped around the helicopter, lengthening shadows between the trees and brush below and giving the team the concealment they needed to kick off Operation Silver Spoon.

  While being lowered on cables, a Special Operations Craft-Riverine—or SOC-R boat—swayed over the muddy waters of the southern Congo River, before it was released and plopped into the water, rocking violently before it settled.

  A bead of sweat dripped down Diesel’s neck, into the collar of his shirt. Night swept over the sprawling marshlands of the Congo River in the southern province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

  SEAL Boat Team 22 had been deployed to Djibouti, on the Horn of Africa, two days ago for this specific mission. They’d gone over the operation, studied the maps and gathered their equipment for what was now “showtime.”

  “The SOC-R’s down!” Diesel shouted, his hand tightening on the rope, which was dangling from the helicopter to the boat below.